But my attention was distracted at this point by one of the circulars, which displayed an array of startling, cheering, alluring words, followed by plentiful exclamation points, that, like a bunch of keys, opened to my enraptured vision the gates of a terrestrial Paradise, where Bridgets should be no more, and where ill-cooked meals should become a mechanical impossibility. The boon we had been sighing for now presented itself for my acceptance, an accomplished fact. Harrison Ely had invented “An Automatic Household Beneficent Genius.--A Practical Realization of the Fabled Familiar of the Middle Ages.” So the circular set forth. Returning to the letter, I read that Harrison Ely, having exhausted his means in working out his invention, was unable to manufacture his “machine” in quantity as yet; but that he had just two on hand which he would sell in order to raise some ready money. He hoped that I would buy one of his automatons, and aid him to sell the other. Never did a request come at a more propitious moment. I had always entertained a kindness for Harrison Ely, and now such was my disgust at the incompetence of Bridget and Juliana and their predecessors that I was eager to stake the price of a “Household Beneficent Genius” on the success of my friend’s invention. So, having grasped the purport of the circulars and letter, I broke forth to my wife: “My dear, you’ve heard me speak of Harrison Ely--” “That man who is always so near doing something great, and never _has_ done anything?” said she. “He has done it at last!” I declared. “Harrison Ely is one of the greatest geniuses the world has ever seen. He has invented an ‘Automatic-Electric Machine-Servant.’” My wife said, “Oh!” There was not an atom of enthusiasm in that “Oh!” but I was not to be daunted. “I am ready,” I resumed, “to invest my bottom dollar in _two_ of Harrison Ely’s machine-servants.” Her eyes were fixed upon me as if they would read my very soul. “What do they cost?” she mildly asked. “In comparison with the benefits to be derived, little enough. Listen!” I seized a circular at random, and began to read: “The Automatic Household Genius, a veritable Domestic Fairy, swift, silent, sure; a Permanent, Inalienable, First-class Servant, warranted to give Satisfaction.” “Ah!” said my wife; and the enthusiasm that was lacking in the “Oh!” made itself eloquent in that “Ah!” “What is the price?” she asked again. “The price is all right, and we are going to try the experiment.” “Are we though?” said she, between doubt and desire. “Most assuredly; it will be a saving in the end. I shall write to Harrison Ely this very night.”